


Sleeping Is Giving In

by echoist



Category: Primeval
Genre: Insomnia, M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-18
Updated: 2011-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU; Connor moves in temporarily with Becker after 4.01, and is having trouble re-adjusting to life in the modern world.  (This was originally a scene from a longer WIP, but all you really need to know for background is that Connor can't sleep worth a damn and Becker's flat has immense floor to ceiling windows that look out over the city.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Is Giving In

Becker rolled over with a sigh and threw back the sheets, giving up on sleep for the time being.  Connor was awake downstairs, Becker could hear him pacing.  It wasn't that he was particularly noisy; the footsteps across the wooden boards could only be classified as hesitant, restrained.  It was the simple fact he was there at all causing the disquiet in Becker's mind and keeping him from sleep.  

He didn't exactly regret telling Connor he could stay here, at least until Lester convinced the Ministry he was alive and well.  He couldn't be expected to live on the 5 quid he'd had in his pocket, with his assets (such as they were) frozen by the government and no one where else to go.  Whatever was wrong between him and Abby, Becker supposed it was none of his business – though, if he'd been stuck in a prehistoric wilderness with only one other person for a solid year, he supposed he'd want more than just a change of scenery, too.      
   
Becker grabbed a pair of sweat pants from over the chair and padded lightly down the staircase, avoiding the spots where the boards tended to creak.   Connor stood with one hand pressed against the window, watching a steady rain drench the city.  It was nearly dawn, and the cold grey light clung to the angular lines of his body, illuminating the shadows.  He was still wearing Becker's t-shirt, faded Sandhurst logo out of place across his chest.  Even if Connor moved out tomorrow, Becker thought, he was making him keep that shirt.  And if, sometimes, he might lie awake thinking about the oldest article of clothing he owned resting warm and easy on another body, well, that was its own form of comfort.

"Are you still not sleeping?" he asked, walking up close behind where Connor stood, still as a statue.  Connor shook his head, _no_ , sliding his fingers down the cool glass pane.  "What's your excuse?" he replied without turning around, resting his forehead lightly against the window.  This was three weeks now, maybe more, with barely a few minutes of sleep stolen here and there, and it wasn't as if he spent his days at a desk.  Connor's eyes had slid shut more than once while Becker bored him with the details of a report, and sometimes at night his head rested against Becker's shoulder while the telly played a film - but these were momentary lapses.  He always startled himself awake, alert to the possibility of danger even in a silent room.  
      
Becker reached out, hesitant as always to initiate contact, and settled for resting his palm against the glass.  His arm over Connor's shoulder only served to box him in against the window, and Becker hoped he hadn't overstepped in his indecision.  "I can't sleep because you're not," he answered truthfully.  There it was, he thought, sat out for Connor to make of it whatever he would.  He'd thought he could handle having Temple underfoot, thought he could count on years of discipline and compartmentalization to make this work.  Five am on a Saturday was a terrible time to learn just how wrong his own assumptions had been.

Connor turned around, his shoulder brushing Becker's wrist as he leaned back against the glass.  The city spread out behind him, rain washing across the landscape in sheets.  A thick blanket of fog rose off the river to smother the city in grey, a whispered admonition to crawl back under the covers and stay in bed.  Becker was thinking about it, really thinking about it, and pondering taking Connor with him.  A simple solution, he thought, if not particularly elegant.  

"I didn't mean to wake you up," Connor muttered, eyes trained on the space between their feet.  "I was trying to be quiet.  Not my fault you're like a giant guard dog with the super hearing and the – the -"  Becker raised his eyebrows as Connor trailed off, leaving the metaphor hanging.  He rubbed his eyes, pressing his fingers against his forehead in a gesture of pure aggravation.  "I've tried everything," he mumbled, words muffled by his fingers and barely recognizable as English.  "I just can't sleep."    
 _  
Not everything_ , Becker thought, reaching out to gently tug Connor's hand away from his face. Becker took a quick mental tally of the ways in which this plan could backfire spectacularly, and realised he didn't actually care about any of them right now.  He lifted Connor's fingers to his lips and kissed them, softly, one by one.  Connor's head snapped up in surprise and he stared at Becker's mouth, at the fingers pressed against it as if they belonged to someone else.  Becker trailed his lips along the tops of Connor's knuckles, still scraped and bruised from a year of living rough, and glanced up through eyelids half shut.

Connor swallowed hard, adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tugged his hand from Becker's grip.  It shook slightly, hanging in the air between them as Becker turned away.  "I'm sorry," he said, the words falling thick and heavy to the floor.  He never should have gotten out of bed.  "I – thought, perhaps – but I was out of line, and it won't –"

Connor's thumb brushed his lower lip, successfully derailing any further thoughts of apology.  Becker turned back, saw the guarded expression on Connor's face and ignored it in favor of what his fingers were doing.  He moved forward slightly, running the tip of his tongue along the pad of Connor's thumb and drawing it slowly into his mouth.  He sucked gently against the ridges and whorls and Connor made the most amazing sound, low in his throat.  He pushed further into Becker's mouth as if testing the waters,  his hand still shaking against Becker's cheek.  Becker guided Connor's hand back towards his lips and ran his tongue down the length of the first two fingers.  Connor breathed in short gasps, watching as Becker took them into his mouth, eyelids sliding completely shut when Becker wrapped his lips around them and sucked, _hard_.  

"You're not trying to put me to sleep," he accused, shakily, adjusting his boxers in embarrassment.  "You're trying to kill me."    

Becker's eyes followed the movement.  He drew back with a quiet chuckle, letting Connor's fingers slide slowly out from between his lips and turned his face into Connor's palm, hand pressed against his cheek.  Becker kissed the soft skin at the base of Connor's thumb, then nipped it lightly, holding it to his lips as he sank down onto his knees.  "Now, what fun would that be?" he murmured, letting Connor's hand fall away, his lips ghosting along the pale skin just above Connor's waist.  

Connor's eyes flew open wide when Becker's hands slid beneath the elastic band of his boxers, and his hands rose up as if to stop his progress.  Becker paused a moment, thumbs tracing Connor's hipbones through the soft material and he relaxed, leaning back against the window.  Becker ran one finger lightly along the outline of Connor's erection, gratified by the soft whine the action drew in response.  His hips canted up, back arching away from the window and Becker repeated the motion with his mouth.  Connor pressed one hand back against the glass, the impact echoing across the flat as his knees began to buckle.  Becker's tongue stroked and teased through the thin, wet fabric, pulling it along Connor's length.  
   
When Connor's hand reached out to tangle in his hair, no hesitation or awkward petting, just a simple, purposeful _grab_ , Becker stopped, drawing back.  Connor's face was flushed, eyes wide and dark.  He caught his lower lip in his teeth and stretched it thin, shifting his jaw back and forth.   Becker worked the boxers down over Connor's hips without looking down, holding his gaze.  Connor's hands moved to lift his shirt over his head and Becker stopped him, tugging the fabric tight across his skin.  

"Leave it on," he ordered, voice gruff with arousal.  Connor smiled a bit cheekily, reaching out to run a finger down Becker's throat.

"Like me wearing your kit, do you?" he asked, or tried, the words barely a whisper.  
   
"You've no idea," Becker replied, finally breaking eye contact.  He pressed Connor back against the window, one hand firmly on his hip, the other guiding Connor's cock against his mouth.  He licked his way up from the base, drawing an assortment of pleased, if incoherent noises mingled with stuttered curses from Connor's lips.  Becker took the swollen head into his mouth, running his tongue along the slit and tasting salt.  He lingered there a moment, sliding the tip in and out of his mouth before swallowing it down.  Becker hummed a little, opening his throat to take it all in, pushing back against Connor's insistent thrusts forward.

He shifted along the floor, bringing his free hand up to stroke the tightening skin around Connor's balls.  Becker cupped them in his palm, sliding his thumb across while his fingers explored the sensitive skin behind.  He wanted to do more, wanted to see just how far he could push – wanted to slide a finger inside, maybe two, wanted to press Connor up against the glass and make him beg for more, wanted to fuck him until his legs shook and he called out Becker's name, again and again –

Connor's cock jumped in his mouth and his hips stuttered up and back.  Becker's hand would have already been down his own pants, bringing himself off, but he couldn't resist the way it felt, digging his fingers into Connor's skin, denying his attempts at forward motion.  His right hand squeezed and stroked below his lips, wrapped tight around Connor's cock as he slid up and down along its warm, thick length.  A tremble started in Connor's thighs, and Becker ran his tongue along the hard ridge of his frenulum, stretched painfully tight.

Connor grabbed a fistful of Becker's hair and yanked, his head falling back to rattle the glass noisily in the pane.  He came with a harsh cry, equal parts relief and triumph, while Becker stroked him through the aftershocks.  Connor's legs at last gave out and he sank down to the floor, looking up at Becker through a mat of sweat-damp fringe.  Becker licked his lips, holding Connor's taste in his mouth. 

"You just – I – um," Connor offered, sounding dazed, cheeks flushed as he struggled to catch his breath.  Becker crawled over to sit beside him, pressing his back to the cool window glass as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.  Connor's head landed on his shoulder, hair falling across his face like a curtain and Becker brushed it gently back.  "That was – unexpected," Connor attempted to elaborate, words falling out of his mouth like a sigh.  

"Is that really all you have to say?" Becker replied, raising his eyebrows in mock offense.  Connor tilted his head up, eyes flicking across Becker's face to judge the seriousness of the question.  Becker smiled, letting him off the hook, at least for now.   

"I think," Connor began, uncertain.  "I think I should say thank you, I mean, really mate, thank you, and offer to return the favor – which I would, I mean, I will, but – " his eyelids fluttered.  "I'm kind of – I'm actually, a little bit – " Connor's head slumped forward, his breathing steady and at ease.  
   
Becker sighed, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, shifting over until Connor's head rested comfortably against his chest.  _You do these things to yourself_ , you know, he told his throbbing erection, willing his mind to think about anything else.  As if his brain had ever had a direct line to his dick, and that had worked out well for him even once in the past.   Not hardly.

He glanced behind them, watching the sun fight the mass of clouds and fog to light the morning sky.  Three stories down, an older woman had stopped in her tracks, staring, her neglected miniature schnauzer straining at the end of his leash.  A bag of groceries spilled across the sidewalk, abandoned and forgotten at her feet.  Becker winked and gathered Connor's limp form up off the floor, herding him gently up the stairs.  The rain still trickled down along the eaves, fog rising up to meet it.  It would be an excellent day to stay in bed.


End file.
